


Bits and Bobs

by ang3lsh1



Category: Chobits, Princess Tutu, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom, Zero: Shisei no Koe | Fatal Frame III: The Tormented
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Angst, BAMF Charles, Bodyguard, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Chefs, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Demons, Domestics, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Meet-Cute, Smitten Erik, Street Dance, dubious cuisine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 7,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1907517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lsh1/pseuds/ang3lsh1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ficlets from tumblr and dumping ground for ideas that I won't be returning to. You're welcome to play in the verses so long as you ask and credit. Tags will be updated as I go on.</p><p>1. Charles is bodyguard to Erik's whatever he is<br/>2. Charles is a street dancer in the snow<br/>3. Charles is a chef and Erik likes to partake in his meals<br/>4. Charles inherits<br/>5. Charles was an open book<br/>6. Charles and Erik, mercenaries of sorts<br/>7. zombie apocalypse<br/>8. Chobits fusion<br/>9. Lazy morning sex<br/>10. Stuck in outer space<br/>11. More valet hijinks<br/>12. Teacher/student tension<br/>13. Spring cleaning<br/>14. Erik is haunted<br/>15. The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing<br/>16. Kind of meet-cute, if you squint<br/>17. Princess Tutu fusion</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bodyguard

**Author's Note:**

> For **ninemoons42**. The prompt was bodyguard.

While going through his morning ablutions, he runs through his check list: 6” stiletto tucked securely in it’s custom sheath in his left boot, set of twin throwing knives secure in their wrist sheaths, his favourite semi-auto goes into the his shoulder holster. That should be enough to get through; according to intel - the threat level today is green.

The coffee has just finished brewing and today’s breakfast is simple enough, lox, cream cheese and bagels. There’s some capers on the side if desired.

Now all that’s left is to wake up the Sleeping Grouchy in the master bedroom of the suite. He steps into the room and heads straight for the curtains, drawing them back and steps aside, allowing the morning sun’s rays to hit the bed’s sleeping occupant fully in the face.

"Mmrphlf," Erik startles awake eloquently and throws a pillow haphazardly. Even if his aim had actually been on the mark, Charles reflexes would have been more than enough to dodge it.

"Morning, sunshine," he laughs as he kisses Erik on the cheek. "You have an hour to shower and have breakfast before we need to be en route to reach the summit on time."

He then makes a quick sidestep to the right, catching Erik’s arm before he tumbles forward from attempting to clutch Charles to his side, no doubt trying to pull him back into bed.

"Come on darling," he says as he cheerfully manhandles Erik into the shower, dodging another bleary attempt to drag Charles into the shower with him. "I’m not joining you in the shower dear. You now have 50 minutes and counting," he sing songs, stepping back into the suite.

As expected, breakfast will have to be on the go again.


	2. Street Menace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik runs across the usual floppy-haired street dance performer, only that this time, he's still performing in the dead of winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this [video here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mRlV9VUQv_c)
> 
> Unbetaed so all mistakes are my own.

It has to be at least - 4 degrees Celsius and no one in their right mind would be out here in the middle of winter in NYC. Definitely not some chestnut, floppy-haired idiot who dances at that corner at Times Square, it’s too cold to be out for such antics. 

But as Erik rounds the corner on his usual path to work; no rest of the wicked and all that, wait does that mean that all lawyers are damned?

He’s distracted by the familiar but foreign, raucous sounds of drum & bass, he conveniently ignores the fact that he had never even heard of this genre of music until the boy started dancing around this corner.

He’s greeted by the sight of the boy obviously dressed for the weather and still moving to the music, albeit more jerky than usual, hindered by the bulk of his clothing.

Erik shakes his head and turns to continue his way work when the lull in the music and laughter prompts him to turn back. Lo and behold a blonde girl is tugging his great wool jacket off, the both of them doubled over from laughing.

Erik stops, attention caught once more. He tries again to pull of his usual moves but still not as graceful as usual. It’s obvious that it’s cold and his movements jerk into the next stance instead of his usual smooth fluidity.

However with each lull in the beat, she’s there helping him tug another layer off and he keeps going, trying to get back to his usual state - performing one-hand stands and Erik just knows that his hands are going to be blue from the cold but he still goes on.

As the song rises to a crescendo, they’re still tugging layers off and it’s still snowing but the both of them are still moving about and laughing.

He calls out in a crisp accent, "Oh my god, Raven! it’s bloody freezing out here, how did I ever let you talk me into this?"

It’s the first time Erik’s heard him speak and then he’s too distracted by the blonde girl, no, Raven tugging off his sweater and he’s now standing in the cold only in a long-sleeved shirt, almost doubled over from the chill in the air before Erik realises that he’s actually laughing.

Two beats later he launches into his finale, popping and locking with the same fluid grace he shows every week, proving that it was the layers and not the cold that held him back.

Erik startles at the smattering of applause coming from around him once the song ends. He hadn’t realised that the performance has garnered a crowd.

After a deep bow the boy looks up at crowd, grinning cheekily as he turns around to tackle Raven round the waist, tugging her away, the both of them giggling all the way.

"You owe me the largest chai latte you can get me now as promised~" he crows, as they wander off in search of what Erik can only guess as the closest Starbucks.


	3. Delicate fine bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the visual prompt by [trobador](http://trobador.tumblr.com/post/89552869150/restaurant-as-a-front-for-criminal-activity-or).
> 
> I took it in a slightly different angle but it still features chefs and demons?
> 
> It is slightly creepier than the previous drabbles.
> 
> Warnings are at the end.

Magnus, third demon on the council of six is rather fond of certain delicacies; it is one of the easiest methods of extracting bargains from him.

Rare is the person who succeeds in presenting such delicacies.

It’s not like he professes his cravings to every wind that blows through his corner of the world.

But there is one person who runs a modest eatery out of a corner shop in the Lower East side of Manhattan, who never fails to satisfy his cravings. Be it his belly or his loins.

The kitchen is hot and rife with energy as he saunters in, he partakes in a sliver of heart lying out on the plate, placing it on his tongue. It has been left to simmer in cherry juices and the tartness bursts upon his tongue, before it is chased away by the taste of blood and muscle.

He is about to sneak a pinch of dessert from the patisserie corner - all that dark chocolate, waiting to be mixed into ganache - when a firm hand slaps his away.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you sneaking that morsel just now, you’ll leave the desserts alone now. Besides I have something much better for you in the back room, Erik,” Charles smirks.

Charles dusts his hands on his apron, before pulling it over his head, hanging it on the rack as he dips out into the back rooms. His staff are familiar with the comings and goings of this strange man that they no longer question his presence, or rather those who question soon find themselves seeking other employment.

The room is dimly lit compared to usual and Erik has to squint, trying to make out where Charles is before realising he’s crouched beneath the table, holding up the tablecloth. Perhaps this is his odd idea of a tryst. Either way he’s never been one to turn down an invitation from Charles.

The scent of roast and brandy is heavy in the air as he crawls beneath the table, hidden away from view by the red velvet table cloth.

Charles uncovers the small dish before him and presents it to Erik with minimal flourish. What sits in on the silver platter, is a small, delicate thing, but large enough to be considered quite a mouthful.

The little ortolan bunting has been nicely fattened up.

When he places it in his mouth and bites down, the crunch of bones is delicate, while the bird bursts forth with the taste of finely aged brandy, laced with the coppery tang of blood. He closes his eyes, as he tilts his head back, chewing slowly to savour the flavours sliding over his palate. It’s so good that he has to seal his mouth shut as he chews, lest any of the flavour gets away. After all who knows when he’ll be able to have a taste of this again.

It is almost a sin to swallow such a delicate feast, no. It definitely is a sin he will relish, letting out a moan as he finishes his meal.

Charles has outshone himself as usual.

When he opens his eyes, Charles is watching him with a satisfied smirk.

Such favours should be rewarded well, he thinks as he slinks over to chase after a different delicacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to **kageillusionz** for the quick beta. The dishes were more or less inspired by [this](http://runescape.salmoneus.net/forums/topic/283144-200-phenomena-in-the-city-of-calgary/), particularly 105 & 106\. The chocolate was probably going to be used to make [this](http://www.sprinklebakes.com/2012/05/seven-sins-chocolate-cake.html).
> 
> Warnings for the eating of a small delicate bird, the ortolan bunting. more information can be found [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ortolan_bunting).


	4. Inheritance

On the day he reaches his majority, Charles receives a phone call from his lawyers, summoning him down to their offices. Anything from a bunch of lawyers can never really be the best of news; considering how much of the Xavier fortune has been squandered by his stepfather, investments that never took off; his own mother invested in stones, clothes and liquor that were to liquidized when his stepfather’s own funds ran out. 

The last time he had been summoned to Berns & Smith in the wake of his mothers death, he had been told that he would only be able to access his trust fund upon his majority, though the Xavier’s holding could and would be managed by Kurt in the meantime as his mother had signed him with power of attorney.

He leaves the lawyers, stunned. Apparently his father had the lawyers draw up a watertight will to be executed upon his death and Kurt had been unable to contest it up till his own death. His trust fund had not been touched at all and Kurt had not succeeded in running his fathers company to the ground. His net worth is 10 billion, excluding his trust fund itself, which is enough to fuel a third world’s country economy for a year.

The first few weeks Charles stays in the large stately mansion on the corners of Westchester. Not quite knowing what to do with the obscene amounts of money he’d just inherited, even when he had escaped to Oxford in pursuit of freedom under the guise of higher learning, taught frugality based on a meagre stipend based on his scholarship money for so long he doesn't quite know what to do with it.

In the end he can’t decide on anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to continue on to where Charles would open a little shop that changed every few weeks because he just couldn't decide what to do and Erik would fall into it by accident and some how end up helping Charles to manage shop. 
> 
> But alas the fic and I were never meant to be.


	5. Same book, different story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For **ninemoons42** , for the prompt: reading

To Erik, Charles is an open book. From the obvious tells: the furrow in between his eyebrows when displeased, different from the frown he does when offering his full attention. The little dip in his chin, which deepens the more upset he is with you. To the fine laughter lines in the corner of his eyes, that Erik loves to kiss first thing in the morning.

His eyes gives away everything to Erik. The blue that lightens in sunlight, before closing as Charles turns his face to bask in the sun, not unlike a sunflower, reminiscent of the dreary winter days in Oxford when the sun is scarce and the grey more abundant. The blue that deepens when in thought, usually followed by a check. Or the blue that is almost luminescent in the lab, before throwing up his hands to gesture at Hank's experiments. The blue that is drowned out by his irises when locked in throes of passion with himself.

Then there are the details of Charles’ body that only he knows, such as just how far down that gorgeous flush of his travels. He has spent endless hours in bed, cataloguing each and every freckle on Charles' body. He knows the difference in shades of red on Charles lips, whether he has been biting down on them or they have just simply been bruised by Erik's kisses. Or other activities.

He has taken note of each and every breathe Charles makes when he swipes his tongue over a nipple, the crook of his elbow, the head of his cock,the rim of his ass. He knows just how much it'll take to make Charles cry out, a simple twist of his wrist on his cock, just enough pressure on his hip, the certain angle that he likes best. The hitch in Charles breath before the moans turns into keens, how to drive Charles just that much further until he's babbling pleas with both his voice and mind and how everything shatters into a myriad of colours when he's pulled along into orgasm.

Charles is his favourite book, the one he would comes home to every night, who greets him like an old friend, who continuously surprises him with new nuances upon each reread.

But right now, the Charles that stands before him is a closed book that he may never be allowed to read any more


	6. Strikhedonia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For **euphorbic** for the same-titled prompt. 
> 
> -the pleasure of being able to say "the hell with it"-

Erik was just about to kick the door in when a startled “Oh,” from Charles gave him reason to pause, lowering his foot down, hands still locked around his handgun, finger off the trigger, gun safety and all that.

"Oh what? New Intel?" Erik asked, turning to look over at Charles who was holding up the cellphone whose screen was a riot of colours flashing the words ‘You’ve been burned’.

Charles hummed as he swiped a few strokes across the screen, before pocketing the phone, shrugging his shoulders. “Intel seems genuine enough from our mysterious benefactor, _M_.”

He rocked back and forth on his heels, hands in his pockets hunching over, “We still have the target in the next room, but seeing that we’ve been burned, I’m not too sure if the paycheck’s even going to go through now.”

Charles straightened up as he concluded decisively, “I no longer see a need to fulfil our end of the bargain toward the Company. What say you.”

The grin Erik had could only be described as feral as he snatched up their duffel bag of toys.

"Let’s head back to the Company, Charles, I have an RPG with Shaw’s name, just itching to be used."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RPG - rocket propelled grenade


	7. Rick Grimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For **euphorbic** , from that movie genre fic meme. The zombie apocalypse version.

It was stupid and careless and now Charles is going to pay the price of it.

It was meant to be routine: scan the area, ensure no dead sparks anywhere close to them. Get in, get the supplies, _get out_.

It was stupid of them to split up this time. Lulled into a false of security by their past, small victories.

He _didn’t_ think - that’s what it was. Didn’t expect that the virus would actually be capable of mutating, so that the dormant zombies - left alone for so long - could survive without any form of sustenance. Perhaps he’d assume that they would just rot away naturally. Instead - to actually go into some form of hibernation - to the point the the dead synapses in their brains would not be able to fire neurons, enough that Charles wouldn’t be able to sense them, and think that this supply chain was safe enough to raid.

Perhaps their scent or presence was enough to get those dead neurons sparking again. And they awoke.

Hungry. Savage.

It doesn’t matter now. Either way he’s left perched atop the shelves with only a handgun and limited ammo and Erik will never be able to make it to him in time.

There’s no sense in wasting bullets when it’ll not be enough maim, let alone to take out a zombie. Even if he took out one, there are more in the hoards clamouring to take it’s place.

It is enough to take out the only living being in the room with them.


	8. Have you tried turning it off and on again?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik receives an umarked package containing a very familiar persocom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chobits fusion, originally posted [here](http://keire-ke.tumblr.com/post/53104365417/ang3lsh1-kageillusionz-disproven), inspired by **keire-ke's** gorgeous art. 
> 
> Title from the brilliant **kageillusionz**. Nailed it.

Erik isn’t quite sure what to make of the situation when he finds the very same persocom who was smirking at him at the factory, now encased in tissue in a very large unmarked box on the floor of this apartment.

Despite his numerous protests over how much he didn’t need one; after all he was satisfied with desktops and tablets. Erik can manage his life very well without a literal embodiment of a personalised computer, thank you very much Stark. 

Still, he couldn’t quite deny that this particular persocom had been lingering at the back of his mind long after they left the factory. It was odd that it had been awake and seemingly sentient from the looks it gave him given the precustomisation stage. Erik is aware of the rumours that persocoms aren’t quite what they seem. But how would you tell that their actions are truly theirs and not what has been written in code?

In for a penny, in for a pound especially since Stark probably was the one who sent this to him. Erik slides one arm under it’s waist, hooks the other under its knees and hoists the persocom up. He’s still surprised by how much it actually weighs. Logically he knows what materials are used to create a persocom, but lying there, sleeping in its box, it looks deceptively fragile and lithe.

He places it on his lap and goes about trying to find the switch. Erik knows there’s no point in searching for a manual as Stark would make it a point not to. He runs his fingers behind its ears, down its nape. The skin is soft and so is the hair tickling his nape. It almost feels like a lover on his lap, except for the weight. There’s no way a boy this size would weigh this much. 

Unable to find any indication of a panel hidden. Erik lies the persocom down and starts turning over limbs trying to find the damned on/off switch.

A half hour later, the persocom is lying in its underwear on the floor and Erik still hasn’t found the goddamn on/off switch and there’s no way in hell he’s going to cave in to ask Stark. Stark would never let him live it down. Stark….

Goddamnit Stark. There’s one place Erik hasn’t tried yet. He tries not to think too much of it as he gathers the persocom in his arms again and slides his hand down the back of its underwear. He is purposely ignoring the fact that the cleft of its arse fits really well in the palm of his hand and especially how lovely it feels. He has not been that hard up for sex, thank you very much Stark, and yes he got laid last week.

He presses in and he hears the soft whirring of gears and shafts as the weight lifts off his lap. The persocom rearranges itself onto its knees opposite Erik and places its hands demurely on its lap. It opens it’s eyes to reveal those same unnatural cerulean eyes that gazes upon Erik.

"Hello, my names is Charles" he says as he offers the same self-aware smirk at Erik.


	9. Lazy morning sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this very nsfw gif [here](http://38.media.tumblr.com/a442fd18256e00e2ad87bbe80d76f67c/tumblr_mhojumOdl91rpd8dbo1_250.gif). Unbetaed, any mistakes are all my own.

The sun peeking through the curtains is what wakes Charles up. He’s a little fuzzy from sleep but he can feel how hard he is. It’s a lazy, drowsy feeling. The only problem is Erik who is currently lying on his belly, huffing gently in his sleep. He rolls over on his side using his toes to trace up and down Erik's calves hoping to wake him up.

When Erik blearily opens his eyes Charles greets him with a smile and they share a sleepy morning kiss without care of morning breath. He scoots closer and pokes Erik with his cock. Erik laughs and nudges him back with his own half-hard cock which soon dissolves into a poking war.

It’s no surprise when they start rubbing off on each other, breathes mingling in between kisses until Charles bucks and whines, demanding that Erik get on top of him.

"Hah, you're just lazy," Erik replies with a grin while continuing to rock into the curve of Charles hip leisurely.

"No, you know I love being pinned down by you," Charles pouts, exaggerating the curve of his lips.

"Yes, but you're also lazy," Erik chides, obliging his spoilt lover, rolling over on top of Charles and nipping at his red lips.

They continue rocking against each other slowly, the sweat and pre-come making it easier for them move. Charles reaches down to tug at their cocks but Erik stops the motion by clasping both his hands and pins them above Charles head.

"No. You wanted me to do all the work so you don’t get to do anything,’ He says with a grin that’s all teeth.

Charles whimpers as Erik continues to drive him mad by rocking into his belly slowly, taking care to rub against Charles hard cock with every movement. He leans down to nip and kiss the freckles dancing on his collarbones, taking care to bite down on the dip in his collarbones that points downwards towards Charles chest where his pert nipples are just begging for attention.

"Now are you going to be good and keep still while I carry on?" he asks glancing up towards blue eyes. Charles nods his head hurriedly, anxious for Erik to get on with it.

"Good," he purrs before sealing his lips of over one pink nipple, using his hand to pinch and rub the other, while his other hand snakes down towards Charles hip.

He thrusts in time with the lapping of his tongue and Charles can only whine, _So good, Erik. What you do to me. I love this. I love the feel of you on me. I love the feel of your cock in me. Stretching me wide. I’ll be so tight for you._

Erik groans and bites down on the Charles nipple as he comes dragging Charles towards his peak also, smearing both their come over Charles belly.

"You cheated Charles."

 _You said no moving. Didn’t mention anything about talking._ Erik can feel how smug Charles feels in his head as he glares at Charles and begins shimmying down his body.

"Wait Erik, where are you… oh,’ Charles dissolves into another incoherency as Erik licks their mess off his soft belly, taking care to lave over his softly twitching cock, making sure he’s cleaned Charles properly.

After which he crawls back up and kisses Charles firmly. ‘Now that you’re satisfied, sleep. It’s Sunday. I’m not getting out of bed for anything,’ Erik says as he winds his limbs around him and dozes off. Charles follows soon after.


	10. Ellen Ripley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reluctantly stuck on a spaceship with aliens

It has been twelve hours since one of the cargo they were transporting escaped from cryosleep and the shuttle went into immediate lock-down, channelling the majority of the power into the cargo bay to ensure the rest of the cargo remain in cryosleep.

It has been ten hours since Erik left for the crew quarters to check on the remainder of the skeleton crew manning this innocuous transport shuttle; Charles has not heard from him since. His breath unfurls on the cold air as he check and rechecks the ships camera, everything is dimly lit by the red emergency lights. He desperately hopes the red liquid in the hallways is a reflection of the lights and not what he thinks it is.

Charles has no idea what got out of the cargo bay, but when the monitor’s flip over to camera in front of the flight deck’s door, he knows he’s about to meet it. Very soon.


	11. Cher Horowitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the pairing is a spoiled, rich kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the fic meme on tumblr.
> 
>  **Edited** : Somehow the last paragraph didn't copy over when I was uploading. Fixed it, should be slightly more cohesive now. Sorry!

Charles rolls his eyes as he pulls the warm duvet of his young charge, the problem with the nouveau riche is that they can be so spoilt, as evidenced by the young master Erik Lehnsherr vaulting upright sputtering “You great brute! You didn’t have to wake me up this way. Mummy will hear about this and you shall be sacked before the sun sets…”

Now that the young master is upright, Charles whips off his nightshirt, causing him to yelp and throw out more accusations of being man-handled. Charles shakes out the shirt and deftly pulls it on the young master, “Even if the Lady of the house does sack me, your father will simply re-hire me again. May I remind you that my task is to tutor you to the utmost of my abilities. Not to coddle you.”

He quickly does up the buttons, before sliding the trousers on and turning to the tray on the bedside table. “Today’s breakfast is porridge with honey or molasses on the side and the refreshment is Darjeeling tea. You have…” Charles checks his pocket-watch, “twenty-five minutes before Mr. McCoy arrives to give you your lessons on arithmetic. No more than that I’m afraid, so I suggest you get on with it instead of gawking at me like a fish, Young Master Erik.”


	12. Ezra Fitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teacher/Student tensions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the fic meme on tumblr. Charles is a student therefore underage.

He’s only sixteen and precocious, too young to know what he’s really demanding; Erik reminds himself of this over and over again. Studiously ignoring the young student in the back corner of the class, cherry-red lips biting down gently over the end of his well-bitten pen, before huffing and a small pink tongue dips out to swipe at his bottom lip. Impossibly blue eyes flit over to meet his eyes briefly and those lips curve into a maddening smirk.

Erik flushes and closes his eyes briefly, knowing he’s been caught out as he desperately wishes for a distraction, any excuse to turn away. Too often those lips and eyes has haunted his dreams at night. Fortunately for him, another student in front calls for his attention. Grateful as he is for the distraction, he can still feel those blue eyes tracking his every move.

Charles Xavier will be the end of him.


	13. Bree Van de Kamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene where one is excessively domestic/houseproud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the fic meme on tumblr

_It’s Spring._

Such innocuous two little words, flashing on the phone screen. Just a simple text from Raven. And yet it manages to strike sheer terror into Erik’s heart. Like a man lost at sea in the middle of a lightning storm, clutching a life buoy, he wonders if he could book a quick weekend trip away under the pretence of some obscure engineering conference back in Germany. Surely Charles would never be able to pick the lie. The idle daydream is brought to a screeching halt when he hears the clack of keys unlocking the front door.

Charles looks innocent enough, arms ladled with bags of groceries. Erik is desperate enough to hope against hope, perhaps this year, Charles would have forgotten, but no. From the paper bags out comes a bandanna, which he uses to cover his hair, before pulling on a pair of long yellow kitchen gloves along with all other varieties of cleaning products.

He thinks about refusing to help Charles outright, but when faced with those eyes and his massive, beaming smile, Erik can only suffer in silence as he accepts the other pair of gloves and mourns the loss of his weekend.


	14. Sleeping with Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is haunted by Charles, vaguely inspired by Fatal Frame III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character death and general angst. Betaed by the lovely **velvetcadence**.
> 
> Title is from **Sleeping with Ghosts** by **Placebo**. I don't know about you but listening to [koe](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_EWumK_ebI), the original ending song for the game did inspire most of this. 
> 
> Originally written for the flash_fanworks challenge of Haunted.

The waters are grey, reflections of the overcast skies above, winds buffeting around him, whipping the heavy woolen lapels against his legs. The waves crash against the dividers leaving a fine spray that mists over his face, reminding him of tears. He fiddles with the heavy camera in his hands, tuning the settings before raising the viewfinder up against his eye and peers into it. The vast expanse of the sea narrows down to a pinhole as he focuses and waits for that one moment where the sun breaks through the clouds before pressing down on the shutter. The click is drowned out by the howl of the wind, chorused by the crash of water against the concrete.

The splash of water on his hand is a surprise, the droplet trickling down the hand that’s holding on to the camera. He isn’t close enough to be splashed by the sea itself. He looks up from the camera in time for another to drop right on his nose, making him blink in reflex. The darkened sky finally decides to give in and start raining. Cursing he hastily packs up everything up to get back to his car. His predilection for old-fashioned film makes him paranoid. After all just because he does watermark his work, he doesn’t want it to be literal.

He manages to unlock the doors and scramble in the drivers seat as he gently tosses his camera onto the shotgun seat just before the rain starts pouring in earnest, with his equipment is mostly dry and intact. Bent over the wheel he catches his breath and the little voice in his head with a very suspicious posh accent asks himself once again:

_Just exactly what is it that you’re running away from_

The last time he was out here, skies were blue and stretched out for so long you couldn’t tell where the sea ended and the sky began and Charles was laughing, running on the sands, cuffs rolled up to his mid-calves as he splashed sea water at Erik. Who was affronted at Charles’ audacity, what if it got inside his equipment?

But before he could say anything at all, Raven snatched the camera out of his hands, bent over with laughter as Charles tackled him. They both went down in the sand, the grains seeped down his waistband, he should have been worrying about it damaging the film in his pockets but all Erik could see were the blue of Charles’ eyes and when he leant in to kiss Erik, Erik drowned in those depths.

Later on as he showed Raven how to go about the dark room, he found one single photo taken by Raven. As he fished it out to hang on the line, Raven came up from behind him crowing over how smitten and useless Erik was over her brother but he couldn’t bring himself to care, warmth blooming in his chest as the photos told no lies - Charles was equally smitten and that’s more than okay with him.

A splash hits his thigh and he’s shocked to find that he’s crying again. Truth be told he doesn’t know what he expected, driving all the way out here, in this weather. He shouldn’t even be in any position to drive, given what happened the last time.

_the sudden flash of headlights, swerving to avoid the oncoming car - except that they’re going over the bank and the car flips over and there’s horrible crunch of metal and there’s nothing he can do and Charles is bleeding out beside him and the medics are not going to get to him on time.._

He pulls himself out that memory. Dwelling on it cannot change the past.

And yet. Here he is.

Raven would be screaming at him. Over this foolishness, coming out here. Thinking maybe it’ll help purge something.

But

He can’t remain in the city. Not where every time he lifts the viewfinder, he’s drawn to the closest speck of blue, every corner he turns because he thinks he hears that familiar baritone, he stops going to coffee shops and the like, and yet he can’t bring himself to clear out the apartment despite the fact that he doesn’t drink tea at all.

He wakes up in the morning and finds himself steeping tea bags in mugs that will never be drunk again and can’t bring himself to throw it out, as though Charles will stumble out of the main bedroom, rubbing at one eye, in Erik’s cardigan, that’s overly large, collar slipping down one shoulder to drink from it and then kiss Erik good morning.

One morning he woke up to soft sunlight filtering through the window, dancing off swirling dust motes in the air and he remembers clearly watching them swirl lazily before settling down on freckled shoulders. And he remembers bending down and tracing out those freckles with his tongue and smothered laughter when Charles turned over to reciprocate and he reaches out to the space where Charles should be only to meet cold empty sheets.

He can’t bring himself to sleep in their bed any more, relegating himself to the worn couch in the lounge. It isn’t comfortable but it’s not like he’s slept well any more. Not after that night.

Raven visits him once at the apartment citing that Erik has spent way too long wallowing in his grief and guilt.

"It’s time to move on. It’s time to clean the place and put Charles’ things away."

But he can’t bear to let go of anything. No matter how painful the reminder is.

The visit ends in tears on Raven’s part as she cried and pleaded with him, “You’re not the only one who lost someone, I lost a brother and nothing I say or do can bring Charles back, but that doesn’t mean that I have to die along with him. The same goes for you too, Erik.”

He wonders what she say to him now, running out of the city to escape the memories.

The sound of the engine stalling startles Erik as the car slowly rolls to a stop. He tries turning the key, pressing down on the accelerator in unison. The engine starts up rumbling before dying down to a whine and sputters weakly as it grows quiet again. With a sigh, he bends down to flick the latch to open the hood, glancing up as he moves to step out of the car.

Erik realises that he’s in front of the Westchester mansion, Charles’ childhood home, overgrown and sinking down into disrepair. He didn’t realise he drove all the way here, from one memory to another.

Without thinking much of it, he reaches out to cradle his camera as he steps out of thecar, muscles memory fidgeting with the lens as he brings the viewfinder up to his eye, making his way slowly up the steps.

As he enters the mansion, the mist curls slowly in, enveloping the mansion as though lulling it to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ideally this would have been the prologue to a Fatal Frame III crossover, where Erik slowly becomes trapped in the Manor of Sleep due to his guilt of surviving the car crash, while Charles didn't. But I can't bring myself to write it because it would more or less follow the plot for the entire game and it would be too painful to write something that wouldn't and couldn't end on a happy note.


	15. Tarantism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by **keire-ke** and thank you to **kageillusionz** for helping me pick out the music.

The muffled warbling echoes through the silent halls of the mansion. Hank knows better now, than to go and check up on the professor - it’s been ages since Charles has responded to that title, but old habits and hope is hard to break.

These are the worse days. No amount of coaxing will be able to pull Charles out of this mood, and Hank doesn’t have the heart to force him out of it. All he can do is hole up in his lab and wait it out.

Perhaps the professor will feel better in the morning.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

* * *

Charles reclines on the couch, idle as he imagines feeling the serum course through his veins, the clamouring voices - you’d think they wouldn’t be able to reach him, so many miles away from the city without the aid of Cerebro, but no - dwindling down to silence. The smoke curls as he inhales, snaking down to settle in his lungs momentarily before diffusing into his bloodstream allowing the foggy calm to descend over him whilst Bobby Darin croons from the gramophone.

Perhaps Hank should test the efficacy of the serum when paired together with cannabis, he’d be more than happy to volunteer as a test subject. All in the name of science.

He closes his eyes, as the music washes over him, hands tapping out the tempo to the melodies until a particular song comes on.

_[Somewhere beyond the sea](http://youtu.be/SEIDep_UMmk) _

Raven used to love this song, Charles remembers. It’s enough to drag him out of the stupor to get off the couch, cross the room to turn the volume up higher.

She used to grab his arms and dance with him across the room. She isn’t here now.

But he’s up now and he remembers how she’d grab on to his hands, swinging them about, footwork going from a very bad waltz to just stumbling about the room in time to the music. It’s easy enough to go through the motions again and it’s almost like she’s here with him, sans -her wild laughter.

The track segues into the next track smoothly and if Charles closes his eyes, it’ll be easy enough to pretend that Raven is here with him, in the same room. Dancing to Bobby Darin in their cramped little apartment in Oxford.

He sways around the room, robe swishing around him as he twirls an invisible Raven around the room, maybe if he listens hard enough he can still hear the echoes of her laughter.

_[I’ve got you under my skin](http://youtu.be/kGZDkVQkEmw?t=11s)_

And with that her laughter turns quieter, lower, a deeper baritone and much more intimate. The soft hands in his become callused, larger, longer fingers encasing his and he remembers broad shoulders as they softly sway to the tune.

He’s across the room in seconds, ripping the needle off the vinyl.

The room is quiet again save for the sounds of his harsh breathing. That golden memory is lost forever to Charles, replaced by another that he refuses to dwell on.

His eyes darts around the room as though chasing ghosts long gone before alighting on the crystal decanter. He grabs it as he stumbles back to the couch, forgoing the matching tumbler as he swigs the amber liquid back. His mother would be appalled at the manner, after all considering it’s age, it’s something to be savoured, not swigged like some sort of beer. Then again towards the end she probably wouldn’t have given a damn, only how high the alcohol content was.

The moment is long gone and the calm fog has dissipated but at least whiskey.

Whiskey, he can always count on to lull him to sleep and forget.


	16. Given enough coffee, I could rule the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'my favorite college experience is when i had a 7am class and the kid next to me literally poured a monster energy drink into his coffee said “i’m going to die” and drank the whole thing'
> 
> Based on the above prompt by **pangeasplits**

7AM, complete hell to everyone else but it is Erik Lehnsherr’s favourite class. He likes it for the quiet and the one’s who are awake enough to come to it are usually the studious types and are there to study, he has his chin propped in the palm of his hand, elbow on the table, twirling a pen between his fingers as he waits for the Prof to come in.

When a floppy haired, bleary boy stumbles into the seat next to him, considering how half awake he was, it was a miracle he had enough coordination to pour a monster energy drink into his eco-friendly, reusable Starbucks Christmas coffee mug,  _ugh, it’s barely even November! hipsters_ , and said “I’m going to die” before chugging the whole thing down.

His jaw drops in awe, as the boy pulls his glasses off, scrunching his eyes to pinch in between his eyes when he turns to face Erik, pinning him under his blue gaze, “I’ll have you know it was a gift and I’m not a hipster, thank you very much.”

But before he could reply Professor Shaw waltzes into the class to start, everyone settles down fairly quickly, given that he was the type to launch into a tirade when catching students talking and the tirades tend to go on for the rest of the lecture wasting pretty much everyone’s time.

After the lecture he wants to try and make amends with the boy but he’s pretty much grabbed his books and dashed off. He puts it out of his mind until later in the evening when he turns up to the local mutant charter.

As he pushes the door open, he catches the tail end of familiar voice ranting “the nerve to call me a hipster, and it such a pity because he was actually quite hot.”

The boy is ranting to a red-haired, blue woman who was nodding emphatically but evidently trying not to laugh.

“All because of the mug you gave me, Raven.”

Erik clears his throat, “I’m not quite sure I actually spoke that aloud.”

The boy freezes, before turning back. looking very sheepish, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise I was lifting up your surface thoughts. I’m not usually like that, but I think you’ve gathered that I’m not much of a morning person.”

Anyone else, Erik would righteously told them to ‘fuck off’ but there’s something about the small smile, he’s offering Erik and those blue, blue eyes that makes Erik stick his hand out. “Tell you what, you can make it up to me by having coffee with me?”

The blinding smile as he takes Erik’s offered hand sends tingles down his spine, he doesn’t regret that impulse decision one bit.

“I think I’d like that very much, Charles Xavier,” Charles offers up, giving a firm handshake.

"Erik Lehnsherr," Erik says in return, sliding his fingers down Charles’ wrist, taking note of the shiver as Charles’ smile slides into a grin in response.

"I find myself looking forward to more 7AM lectures," Charles says, leaning in flirtatiously, casually ignoring Raven gagging in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard disclaimer being that I have nothing against hipsters and really I have no idea exactly what hipsters are, except that they probably wouldn’t buy their coffee from Starbucks. But I digress.
> 
> Title shamelessly stolen from Terry Pratchet. Unbetaed, any mistakes are my own.


	17. My Love is Small, but...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Charles is Ahiru and Erik is Fakir.

Charles ducks his head underwater searching for the choicest bits of algae to feed on before resurfacing. He swallows the slimy morsel as he shakes the rest of the water off him before turning to preen his wing feathers. He idly kicks his feet below him as he swims across the lake towards the shore, wondering if the kind man, with the large hands will come by the lake again.

 He normally shies away from people these days, but there’s something about the gravelly tone of the voice, low but always kind to Charles. Especially those large hands, so gentle when he nudges Charles curious beak away from those white thin things, that he knows are sheets of paper, covered by an indecipherable, messy scrawl. He doesn’t know how he knows these things but somewhere deep down, he thinks he remembers encouraging someone to fill those sheets, remembers reading them aloud, willing the words to come true.

But even more familiar are those long, elegant fingers, holding out tasty earthworms for Charles to feed on. For some reason he remembers being cradled in that warmth. More oddly he remembers those fingers clasping his, like a far off dream.

No one is there when he reaches the banks, perhaps it’s too early in the day for the man to come? But then again, Charles is but a simple duck, happy enough to idle his days on the shore, so long as he has tasty treats to keep him full.

As the sun rises and warms the waters, he finds himself growing drowsy, lulled by the gentle lapping on the water, he decides to wade up onto the bank to doze off. That way it’ll be easier for the man to find Charles.

It doesn’t take long before the warmth of the sun soothes Charles off to sleep and he dreams.

He dreams of being able to see over the hedges without the need to take flight, of standing on longer legs, feet placed parallel with each other in the first position, instead of his own two webbed feet, suited to paddling about in the water. He remembers raising his arms, placing them outstretched before him, before lifting them up in the fourth position, unfettered by the feathers in his wings.

The stretch in his calves as he performs the basics, warming up, tensing before springing into a grand jete and landing on his toes, using the momentum to pivot into a series of pirouettes before leaping again into the air and having the familiar hands that feeds him and pets him gently catch him as they cradle his waist before lifting him. The same fingers that has calluses, holding his hands gently, odd that a dancer would have them, but Charles knows it’s from wielding a sword

He sleeps on and dreams of a time when he danced with his princess as he returned shards of her heart, doomed to an unrequited love before realising there was more to the story than simply putting the shards of her heart back together again, of dancing with a knight who gave up the sword in place of a pen.

As he dreams on, Erik lopes up the greens with his long legs, hands filled with sheaves of paper, a basket of food hanging off his arm. He has a small bag of crickets chirping in his other hand. Just as he’s about to head further into the woods when he spies a tuft of yellow down on the bank.

He makes his way over, sure enough the little duck is nodding off, no doubt dreaming sweet dreams of sugar plums, he hopes.

“Hello, Charles,” he says fondly, arranging himself before sitting down next to Charles, gently rubbing the top of his head with his finger. Charles shifts closer to Erik’s thigh seeking this new warmth, snuffling deeper down into his dreams of dancing with his knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to **velvetcadence**. It has been an idea that I've been vaguely toying about for awhile.
> 
> Title is from the ending of the anime.


End file.
